


The Only Ones Left

by putconspiraciesinit



Series: Emperor Burr AU [4]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: (well happy-ish), Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination, Childhood Trauma, Escape, F/M, Gen, Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: After the White House Massacre, the empress' son and his family, who weren't home when it happened, try to escape to England.





	The Only Ones Left

**Author's Note:**

> Augustina Van Laar and her kids were not real people. In this AU, Aaron Burr Alston (Prince Aaron II) does not die of malaria at age 10, but rather lives to adulthood and gets married and has children (because you can't really not do that when you're the only child of a reigning monarch with no other family).  
> I seriously considered making Augustina's maiden name "Yonkers," but in the end, the urge to make her name sound cool outweighed the urge to make it sound funny.

Prince Aaron II had been away from the White House when it had happened, and he’d seen the mob, off in the distance. He’d _heard_ them too; such an assembly of furious people was bound to make quite a bit of noise. So, he’d done what any sane person in his now-situation would do; turned to his wife and murmured,

“We need to round up the children and get as far away from here as possible.”

 

***

 

The remaining royals stopped at some peasant family’s house and gave them a large sum of money to trade clothes with them. Aaron and Augustina hastily washed the makeup from their faces, or as much of it as they could wash off in as little time as possible, before changing into their newly acquired peasant clothes.

“I’ve cursed how long it takes to get dressed or undressed before, but never so severely as at this moment,” grunted Augustina. “If I cost us all our lives through trying to get myself out of this accursed dress--”

“You won’t,” said Aaron. “Best not to think about that. We need to simply focus on the task at hand.”

 

***

 

For obvious reasons, they had to ditch the royal carriage. Paranoid that the horses were also recognizable, they set them loose and continued on foot. Unfortunately, being somewhere near the middle of the country, they were quite a ways away from the ocean--and fleeing to Europe seemed like the safest option, as nobody was going to cross a whole ocean just to assassinate someone. They would have to somehow make it to the nearest beach on foot. Then, they would be safe.

The only problem, of course, was that they had to _walk all the way to Virginia_ without being recognized. And the longer they were in America, the more they all felt like they would be recognized and killed. They stayed at inns way out in the country, frequented by very few people. They stayed away from major settlements with large populations. They spoke to nobody but each other, except when absolutely necessary. Eventually, overcome by paranoia, Aaron bought two pistols; one for himself and one for Augustina. It would feel wrong to give the children pistols, but having the adults armed felt more secure.

 

***

 

They made it to Virginia in one piece, all six family members still alive and physically well. They still had a long way to go to reach the coast, but just having crossed the state border felt like an accomplishment. The trip thus far had passed without incident. Nobody had tried to kill them. The exercise was probably good for them, really. Aaron reassured himself everything would be okay, it should all go smoothly from here. They were no more than three hours or so from the coastline when they decided to stop and sleep for one final time before leaving America for good.

The inn wasn’t the nicest they’d stayed at, but it wasn’t the shabbiest either. There were a considerable number of people there. Augustina tapped Mary, her and Aaron’s oldest, on the shoulder.

“Mary, dear, could you go and ask somebody what would be the fastest route to the nearest port?”

“Yes, mama.”

“Here, take one of these, just in case,” muttered Augustina, discreetly handing Mary her pistol.

The child wasn’t thirty seconds out the door when somebody approached the family’s table. A very generic, average-looking man.

“...Hello, sir,” said Aaron.

“Say, do I know you?” asked the man.

“No, I don’t recognize your face. Are you looking for somebody?” Aaron was not his grandfather. His voice sounded nervous, and he knew it.

“No, not looking for somebody...but I _know_ I’ve seen you before.”

“Well, er,” stammered Aaron, reaching for his pistol under the table, “perhaps you have seen me before, people see other people very frequently, you see.”

The man stared Aaron down, then turned to Augustina.

“You, I know you from somewhere, too. Both of you.”

“Why does this matter so much to you, sir?” inquired Augustina. “As my husband has said, people see other people very frequently. Would you mind either telling us what it is you want or leaving us be? You are intimidating our children.”

The man squinted. Glared, almost. Then took on a look of utter shock, in the span of about twenty seconds. Staring directly at Aaron. Aaron gripped his pistol, ready to fire.

“My God, you’re...you’re the prince!”

“What?”

“You have the eyes.”

Aaron hesitated _just_ long enough to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 _Just_ long enough that there was no convincing the man that he was not who he was.

 

***

 

All Mary heard from outside the inn was screaming and one gunshot. She recognized the voices of...well, her entire family. Before she even had time to think about what was happening, instinct took over and she ran like her life depended on it--which it probably did. She did not look back. Did not stop running until she’d been running without pause for several minutes straight and her body felt like it was drained of every bit of energy, or oxygen for that matter, and she collapsed. She wasn’t even conscious enough to brace herself for the impact when she hit the ground, scraping up her knees and elbows and hands something terrible.

For what felt like simultaneously all eternity and no time at all, Mary just lay there on the ground without moving a muscle, staring off into space.

Eventually, she was able to stand back up. She still had her mother’s pistol. And the map. She had to keep going.

 

***

Vanderlyn--or, as he was calling himself now, Van Hassel--wasn’t sure why he liked to hang around the docks. There weren’t many places to set up and paint or draw, which was just about all he did, these days. It took his mind off...that. But there was something calming about the place. Most of the time, he didn’t pay much attention to the people getting on and off of various ships. At best, he’d sort of glance at the occasional person or group of people in passing. Then, one day, he saw something that made him do quite the double take.

Even dressed as she was, he would recognize Princess Mary anywhere.

Princess Mary was here.

 _Someone else had survived_.

He rushed over to her.

“Mary?”

She looked up, startled. Squinted for a moment, like she nearly recognized him, but didn’t _quite_.

“Mary, it’s me, Vanderlyn.”

“Oh! I-it is, isn’t it...you made it out, I’m not...the only one.”

His heart sank. _The only one_. Mary had been with her parents and siblings, before. That she had thought she was the only one left couldn’t possibly mean anything good had become of them.

“Oh, no…”

“Mama, papa, the others...they were all…” she didn’t finish the sentence before bursting into tears, but there was no need to. Vanderlyn knew exactly how it ended.

He pulled the girl into a tight hug.

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“What are we to do now, Mr. Vanderlyn?” sobbed Mary. “I don’t want to die!”

“Neither of us is going to die, Mary. What we are going to do, is claim you are a relative of mine--a granddaughter or niece or something along those lines. I am certain my friend with whom I am staying at the moment will not mind another addition to the household. Let us go there now, hm?”

Mary simply nodded.

 

***

 

Neither John Vanderlyn nor Mary Burr Alston Van Laar were ever heard from again, on any continent.

However, Johan Van Hassel, an old painter fascinated with painting scenes from the collapse of the American empire, did rather well for himself, and his great-niece Maria Van Ness.


End file.
